B is for Blake and Bukowski

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Today I could not choose, so you get a pair of starkly contrasting poems. I had initially decided on Bukowski but Monkey requested the William Blake, of whom we became very fond during our Philip Pullman period (he is quoted regularly through the His Dark Materials books). 

I think Bukowski is a bit of an acquired taste, often the only word you can use for his poetry is sordid. What I loved about the one below is that it keeps his keen observational style but subverts his usual subject matter and brings us something beautiful.

The Schoolboy by William Blake

I love to rise in a summer morn,
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the skylark sings with me:
O what sweet company!

But to go to school in a summer morn, —
O it drives all joy away!
Under a cruel eye outworn,
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay.

Ah then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour;
Nor in my book can I take delight,
Nor sit in learning’s bower,
Worn through with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears annoy,
But droop his tender wing,
And forget his youthful spring!

O father and mother if buds are nipped,
And blossoms blown away;
And if the tender plants are stripped
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care’s dismay, —

How shall the summer arise in joy,
Or the summer fruits appear?
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the mellowing year,
When the blasts of winter appear?


Nirvana by Charles Bukowski

not much chance, 
completely cut loose from 
purpose, 
he was a young man 
riding a bus 
through North Carolina 
on the way to somewhere 
and it began to snow 
and the bus stopped 
at a little cafe 
in the hills 
and the passengers 
entered. 
he sat at the counter 
with the others, 
he ordered and the 
food arrived. 
the meal was particularly 
good and the 
coffee. 
the waitress was 
unlike the women 
he had 
known. 
she was unaffected, 
there was a natural 
humor which came 
from her. 
the fry cook said 
crazy things. 
the dishwasher. 
in back, 
laughed, a good 
clean 
pleasant 
laugh. 
the young man 
watched the snow through the 
windows. 
he wanted to stay 
in that cafe 
forever. 
the curious feeling 
swam through him 
that everything 
was 
beautiful 
there, 
that it would always 
stay beautiful 
there. 
then the bus driver 
told the passengers 
that it was time 
to board. 
the young man 
thought, I'll just sit 
here, I'll just stay 
here. 
but then 
he rose and followed 
the others into the 
bus. 
he found his seat 
and looked at the cafe 
through the bus 
window. 
then the bus moved 
off, down a curve, 
downward, out of 
the hills. 
the young man 
looked straight 
forward. 
he heard the other 
passengers 
speaking 
of other things, 
or they were 
reading 
or 
attempting to sleep. 
they had not 
noticed 
the 
magic. 
the young man 
put his head 
to one side, 
closed his 
eyes, 
pretended to 
sleep. 
there was nothing 
else to do- 
just to listen to the 
sound of the 
engine, 
the sound of the 
tyres in the 
snow.

(Linking back to the A to Z Challenge)